Claude
I’ve always hated Cat Bores. You know the kind of people I’m talking about, they lost sight of reality the day they brought Tibbles home and never recovered. Next thing you know it’s framed pictures of their stupid moggie on the wall, mundane anecdotes and interrupted phone conversations so you can hear the stupid thing purring. Cats are driven by instinct. Cat People assign human attributes to this behaviour because it is fun for them. Cat People are wrong.
Or so I thought, until the day I met Claude. I’m still not sure exactly how it happened. Claude is my housemate’s cat, when I moved in Clause was already living here. Claude is a black cat with a squishy tummy and a sarcastic face. But it just snuck up on me somehow. The occasional afternoon playing with a toy mouse, furtive glances in the hallway and then, one day I came home and he was on my bed. He meowed crossly at me and stormed out, as if he was the one paying the rent and I had trampled on his rights, but then he came back the next day. Somehow we just got used to each other and then, joy of joys that first special day when Claude climbed up and sat purring on my lap.
It wasn’t until the day I held the phone up to his little face so he could say hello to my mum that I realised I had gone over to the other side. I was a cat bore in denial. I quickly calculated the number of hours spent talking to or about Claude in the previous week. All my friends knew more about Claude’s life>cat insurance of cat toys. I’m a Claude person. And from the look in his eyes, he knows.
I'm still not entirely sure what a blepharoplasty clinic is, but I know its some
kind of plastic surgery type thing. What's the relevance of this you may ask? Well, our great leader and Company MD has usefully gotten every employee a
discount for it! Myah is thinking about reaching into her pocket for once and trying to make herself more beautiful. Good luck to her.
